“Precision here is superfluous as cut flowers.” Amy Key
hidden into human voices
hidden
into form a mean being
understood opposite its
faith pierced with derivation
like a patient
etherized upon a table
vivsected every thousand years
growing old
finding out
unconcepted fart
truth
to human ancient
reality
or falsehood opposite the discussed
rivality reveality ruementality wreathed
to
mean
by the original
means
being claimed by logicians
jews law journalism and views the famously lingered
common
understanding
sing about creation, our creation, the life of the world
and fantastic nature how we struggle to transform it,
but don't victimize our selves by distorting the world
faith pierce
roles
ultimately
agreed upon athens was also plato's
sense-faith nor identify
truth in i in i
3 thoughts on “Wikipedia Poem, No. 384”
How do you construct these? Like the image, too.
Thanks for reading! The text and images, alike, are built up from traditional original sources (eyes, cameras, newspaper clippings, web searches, ancient texts, translated poetry, etc.) and found materials (notes fallen from pockets, things written on the sides of trucks, newscasts from the 80s, tweets, cave drawings, reflections I imagine, old castles, eyes, lies, french fries, thick thighs, etc.) and then shredded and decontextualized using machine processes, and ripped apart by hand. Once everything smells like me, I sew together and reanimate connective tissue from little strips of bomb-cloud and weave it all into canvas. I then rubberband a pencil to a 6-foot-pole and stand on one foot and sign my name over and over on the canvas’s surface. If you’d like to buy prints of anything please let me know.
Beautiful process lovingly described. Careful not to fall over and impale yourself on your own id. Read some Lorine Niedecker, if you haven’t already.
How do you construct these? Like the image, too.
Thanks for reading! The text and images, alike, are built up from traditional original sources (eyes, cameras, newspaper clippings, web searches, ancient texts, translated poetry, etc.) and found materials (notes fallen from pockets, things written on the sides of trucks, newscasts from the 80s, tweets, cave drawings, reflections I imagine, old castles, eyes, lies, french fries, thick thighs, etc.) and then shredded and decontextualized using machine processes, and ripped apart by hand. Once everything smells like me, I sew together and reanimate connective tissue from little strips of bomb-cloud and weave it all into canvas. I then rubberband a pencil to a 6-foot-pole and stand on one foot and sign my name over and over on the canvas’s surface. If you’d like to buy prints of anything please let me know.
Beautiful process lovingly described. Careful not to fall over and impale yourself on your own id. Read some Lorine Niedecker, if you haven’t already.